Mr Darcy Learns a Lesson
by pulsifer
Summary: Mary overhears Mr. Darcy talking about Lizzy at the Meryton assembly, and she decides to take matters into her own hands.


_A/N: this is a bit of comedy, so don't take it too seriously. I like Mary quite a bit and I feel that, despite her shortcomings, she would be very loyal to her eldest sisters. Some lines are taken directly from P &P. anyway, enjoy!_

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Mary Bennet was sitting in a not very comfortable chair by the wall, marking time by flicking the pages of her book. Truth be told, she could not read with such infernal noise around her. Even if she were to try, it would be an insupportable ordeal on her nerves. Still, she had to give the impression she was occupied. Otherwise, it would look as if she were just another sad old maid who had not been asked to dance. No, no. She had chosen not to dance. Dancing was a mystery to her, anyway; imagine moving your arms and legs as if you were balancing precariously on a tight rope. They only did that sort of thing at a carnival. She had better things to do.

Now and then, given the fact that she wasn't actually reading, she couldn't help overhearing the conversation around her. People talked _very_ loud at such gatherings, because they imagined it was all right to do so. Her mother was guilty of this offense in the highest degree, which was why Mary had moved away from her.

But the chatter was still quite unavoidable. Everyone was giving their opinion on Mr. Bingley, his sisters and his friend. The newcomers all struck varying degrees of appreciation in people's imagination. Mr. Bingley was considered charming and good-natured because he danced with many young ladies and smiled to everyone, while Mr. Darcy was barely agreeable because he only danced with Miss Bingley and did not smile at _all_. Mary thought Mr. Bingley was adequately well-behaved, but he hadn't asked _her_ to dance and, while she would have refused him anyway, it was the polite thing to _do_. She also did not generally like smiling. If a man made such an effort to appear jolly, could he be trusted?

Still, she gave him leave, because he seemed to like Jane very much and that meant he had _some_ sense.

Mr. Darcy had expressed no admiration for her eldest sister so he was quite stupid, she decided. His only redeeming quality was his ten thousand a year, but the Rich wouldn't inherit the Earth on Judgement Day, would they?

She was going over these sensible ideas in her head when – speak of the Devil –the gentleman she had been disparaging with little remorse settled only a few feet away from her chair. He looked severely upon the couples dancing in front of him, as if he was begrudging their entertainment. Mary would have agreed with the sentiment if Mr. Darcy had been a young lady, but he was a gentleman and could, therefore, freely ask anyone to dance. So really, there was no reason for _him_ to look so put out.

Mr. Bingley approached him at the end of a dance, looking very content and well-disposed. Did that man ever frown, she wondered?

"Come Darcy," Mary heard him say. "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner." Ha! Mr. Bingley thought it was stupid too! "You had much better dance."

"I certainly shall not," Mr. Darcy replied sternly. "You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with."

Mary thought the last part was rather unnecessary. It was excusable to not want to hold a stranger's hand and make elaborate movements about the room, but to say it was a _punishment_ – this sort of exaggeration always made Kitty and Lydia sound childish. They always complained about the day being too long or the sun being too hot or their dresses being too few, as if everything was a trial to be suffered.

And what did he mean by "such an assembly as this"?

"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Mr. Bingley, "for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty."

That was well-said, Mary thought, although he did not need to single out the pretty ones in such an obvious fashion. Either they were _all_ pleasant, or none of them were.

" _You_ are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," replied Mr. Darcy, looking at her sister, Jane, who was talking with Charlotte Lucas across the room.

Mary decided this might be allowed, as Jane was a true beauty, especially standing next to poor Charlotte, though her sister wouldn't have liked being called the _only_ handsome girl in the room.

"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld!" Mr. Bingley agreed passionately. "But there is one of her sisters sitting down behind her. She is very pretty and I dare say very agreeable too. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."

Darcy stared for a moment in Elizabeth Bennet's general direction. Mary followed his gaze. She could guess why her second eldest sister had been stationed in a chair. The room was unequally filled up with more ladies than gentleman and she'd had to sit out two dances, but that was only a bad spell. Lizzy was always in high demand wherever she went.

Yet, Mr. Darcy's opinion on the matter was trenchant. He turned to his friend and said coldly: "She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."

Mary could not believe her ears. She sat there very still as Mr. Bingley departed with a sigh and joined her sisters and Charlotte across the room. All four of them smiled and made conversation and gave little thought to the great insult Mr. Darcy had nonchalantly dispensed on Lizzy. Lizzy, who happened to be her second favourite sister! Well! How rude, how ungentlemanly, how positively crass– how –!

She fumed silently, clenching and unclenching her fists until her poor book started shaking in her hands.

Mrs. Bennet often complained that her third eldest daughter had a talent for making a _scene_. At first glance, this seemed hardly possible. Mary Bennet was, to every onlooker, perfectly quiet and demure. But that was only up to a certain point. She could tolerate not being asked to dance because she abhorred the sport itself. But if someone should be so _bold_ as to deny her seat at the pianoforte, well, as Dante put it so wisely, _abandon hope all ye who enter here._

It went the same for verbal disputes. In matters of fashion and dress and ribbons, Mary only scowled but made no contribution, because she knew she would be outmatched by her sisters. In matters of _morality_ , however, she felt it was her due to speak. There was no greater rhetorician in the parish.

Unlike her sister, Lizzy, however, she did not possess the fiery wit and cool temperament to make her declamations attractive. No one would have called _her_ high-spirited. Her honesty was blunt and clumsy. Not the stuff of heroines, shall we say.

So, after a few moments' debate, she got up very stiffly, feeling she could _not_ stay silent on the matter, and she walked up to the guilty gentleman, until she was almost at his side.

Then, without turning directly towards him, but making sure he would hear her as perfectly as if she were speaking in his ear, "I will have you know, Sir, that a lady's complexion is no fault of her own."

Anyone who knew Mr. Darcy intimately would say the man rarely, if ever, flinched. Nothing ever spooked him. He had traveled by horse at night without feeling a single shade of terror. Even when his beloved sister, Georgiana, was almost whisked away by the scoundrel Wickham, he managed to keep his cool.

But he verily almost jumped out of his skin when Miss Bennet started speaking.

"In fact," she continued in a great huff, "when one is complaining about a lady's complexion, one is criticizing God's creation. God made the lady in good health. He made her body fit for work and prayer and good deeds. But _handsomeness_ ," and she made sure to draw out the word, "is not a requirement for work or prayer or good deeds."

Darcy couldn't quite believe it. He stared at the creature standing next to him as if she were a pygmy from a tropical island. But she was, by all appearances, quite English and quite real. When Miss Bingley had told him that people in the country had strange habits, he had scoffed.

"And I should think that _worrying_ over handsomeness is a great waste of valuable time. If everyone was preoccupied with such a pursuit, we would get very little done," Mary finished sententiously, looking straight in front of her.

And then, as an after-thought, she added, "Sir."

Darcy felt mortifyingly insulted, though he could not say what injured him more – the fact that she was addressing him directly in this preaching manner, or that she was assuming he was the sort of frivolous rake one read about in a novel. He wanted to defend himself, but he found he could not summon a strategy for something so difficult. How would he even _begin_? He felt she had unjustly put words in his mouth … Though it was true he should have perhaps kept his opinions to himself. Well, anyway – why was _she_ eavesdropping?

He turned an inch to inspect his enemy a little closer.

She was terribly plain looking, her features suffering from an excess of indetermination. Her chin did not know if it wanted to _be_ a chin, for example. Yet her countenance was very fierce. Her expression reminded him of Mrs. Reynolds', whenever he did a bad turn as a child. She was the sort of person that would cower you into an apology. If the army ever decided to recruit her kind, Napoleon would be promptly turned to stew.

He cleared his throat for several moments, to fill up the dreadful silence.

Mary glowered at him, rendering him much less tall than he regularly was. After a small eternity, she paid him a stiff curtsy and made a very dignified walk back to her chair.

Darcy thought maybe that would be the end of that and neither of them would have to mention it again – but no! There she was, with her arms folded across her waist, still glaring at him! Like a watch hound, guarding its prey.

But this was ridiculous! He had only said in passing that he did not find Elizabeth Bennet handsome –! And well, he might have said another thing or two that did not bear mentioning. Come to think of it, he had said it more out of impatience and incommodity. Yet is a man to be hanged for every little word?

He looked at Elizabeth Bennet again. She was no longer sitting down. She was standing up, talking to Miss Lucas. The elder Miss Bennet was dancing with Bingley yet again. Now that her figure and manner were a little more enhanced, Darcy could appreciate her better. She happened to laugh at something Miss Lucas said. She was…not plain, certainly not plain. Her eyes were very fine in a certain light. Suppose every young lady had her charms, and well, _handsomeness_ really was not so very important to him -

He cast a sidelong glance, to check if the remonstrative young woman was still glaring at him. Good lord, she was! Oh, what would make her _stop_?

 _You know exactly what would,_ he thought with a deep sigh. But he would certainly _not_ go and ask Elizabeth Bennet to dance, for that would be showing weakness.

Yet, he soon changed his tune when he saw none other than Mrs. Bennet stop by his enemy's chair.

"Mary, dear, what are you sitting here alone for?"

 _Oh, God, she is one of the Miss Bennets_ , he realized with deep chagrin. _And she will tell her sisters everything, if given the chance._

Darcy decided this would not do. He had to nip it in the bud, and nip it quick. So, discarding his pride and listening to his conscience, he strode across the room and stopped in front of Elizabeth Bennet.

* * *

"Oh, look Mary! Mr. Darcy has asked Lizzy to dance! How momentous! And they all said he's so fastidious! But our Lizzy bewitched him!" Mrs. Bennet cried out in supreme victory.

Mary clasped her hands in satisfaction. She even smiled a little, though she generally did not like smiling.

Yes, some bewitching had taken place, but more the kind you saw in Act One of Macbeth. She felt very pleased with herself. And when Mr. Darcy caught her eye during a turn, Mary nodded at him in approval.

Darcy felt as if he was five again, and Mrs. Reynolds was watching over him, guiding his steps. Oddly enough, he did not mind it so much anymore, for he'd found his partner _quite_ tolerable by the end of the evening.

Even after he was married to Elizabeth Bennet, he never quite forgot what Mary told him that day, that handsomeness is not a requirement for work or prayer or good deeds.

And Mary, for all her small faults and vanities, confirmed the saying thoroughly.


End file.
